


Ragdolled

by Piff



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Body Horror, Dismemberment, F/M, Partial death, rebuilding oneself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-16 19:23:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9286286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Piff/pseuds/Piff
Summary: Something happened. Something bad. Jack doesn't remember what happened, or much of anything, but under the guidance of Pitch Black he'll find his feet again. First literally, and then metaphorically. Along the way he makes new friends, discovers new skills, and a new outlook on life.Death is just the beginning.Again.





	1. Chapter 1

The first thing Jack became aware of, slowly gaining consciousness, was that something was poking his left arm. Or was it a pinch? And oddly like something was being pulled.

It seemed to take ages to turn his head, few inches that it was, as if someone had poured cement in where his brain should be.

It was… dark.

It slowly came to mind that maybe he should open his eyes.

The room was still dark, but not completely. A lamp threw off a dim circle of yellow light and allowed Jack's eyes to focus on the dark form looming over him. No, over his arm. A grey hand was moving back and forth in a motion that was very familiar to Jack but..

It looked like Pitch was sewing. Should the Boogeyman know how to sew? It seemed too domestic. Homey.

He looked very focused on what he was doing, like it was of utmost importance for it to be done correctly.

Jack wasn't sure how long he laid there and passively watched the odd scene before he realized that it was him that Pitch was sewing up. With black thread and tiny, precise stitches the Boogeyman was re-attaching Jack's elbow to his arm. Jack could see bone. And muscle. Shredded skin. But stitch by countless stitch it was all coming back together under bright yellow eyes and... spectacles?

Jack couldn't recall having been in a fight.

Truthfully, Jack could barely recall anything at all.

Nor could he rouse up the effort to try to.

Just… didn't seem to matter much.

Jack was about to let himself drift back off when Pitch started talking.

“I was wondering if you were going to wake up. It would have been a pity to go through all this effort to piece you back together if you just stayed asleep.”

Yellow eyed flicked up to Jack's face.

“Mmmm... You don't remember what happened, do you?”

It was all Jack could do to even blink. Anything more was impossible.

“Ah.” Pitch took his time in knotting off the last stitch, using a tiny pair of scissors to snip the thread and setting the dainty needle aside. One hand gripping Jack's upper arm, the other grasping a few inches below the elbow, the gaunt man carefully bent the joint a few times to tests the durability of his work.

“You were injured, obviously. Quite badly in fact. You are lucky that the Guardians found all of the pieces when they buried you or else I'd be forced to be.. creative.”

Buried him? Why would they bury him?

“It's a good thing I enjoy the occasional puzzle. Might I suggest you stay away from Great Britain for a while? A Spriggan has a very long memory. Not likely to forgive any time soon.”

What on earth was a Spriggan?

Pitch slid a hand under Jack's back, right between the shoulder blades, and pressed up. Jack's body obliged him by sitting up though like his head, everything felt heavy and slow and it was only because of Pitch himself that Jack moved at all.

Once upright, Pitch moved something behind him and Jack was able to lean back against what felt like thick padding. Upright, Jack could see more of his own body and felt only vaguely surprised to see he was stark naked. What really caught his attention was the webbing of fine black thread that almost covered him head to toe.

Across his belly was an especially large mass of needlework, and to Jack's eyes it was more like a piece of intricate lace than mutilated skin.

He was, thankfully, still male below that.

Claws marks on his left thigh, both knees and an ankle were encased in more needlework. His feet at the foot of the bed looked relatively unharmed except for a few scratches.

Looking back up, he found Pitch watching him.

Jack tried to feel outraged. He tried to feel afraid. Alarmed. Worried. He just felt… tired. And empty.

So he closed his eyes.

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

 

_Why?_

_Because I was thrown away too, once. And many times after that._


	2. Chapter 2

Pitch was an asshole.

And Jack knew Pitch knew this because Jack had made it very clear with his one fingered salute. Done behind his back cause he was rather comfortable with his face planted into the dirt at the moment. It was cool and damp and felt wonderful.

The webbing of thread coating Jack's throat itched as a rock pressed against it, but Jack welcomed the small discomfort. He could do without the rock, but he'd rather tolerate an itchy throat rather than not have a head at all.

He felt Pitch nudge him in the side with a foot.

No.

Go away.

“Get up. The more you move around, the better you will feel.”

No.

Hands slid under Jack's armpits and he found himself ungraciously hauled to his feet. Flailing for balance on slightly numb legs, Jack lurched first forwards and then backwards against the solid form of his tormenter.

Bastard.

Jack continued to use Pitch as support as he tried to figure out his knees. Did he even have knees anymore? Cause it didn't feel like it. It felt like squishy empty space. And itchy.

“Move, Jack.”

Pitch ignored the whine and pushed Jack forward. Yesterday Jack hadn't been able to feel his legs at all, so this was progress. His body needed to be reminded how it was supposed to work and Pitch was making sure that happened.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

_Am I dead?_

_Were you alive?_

_I think so.. I was human once._


	3. Chapter 3

They had chosen here to bury him?

Jack's silent stare was broken up by a slow, incredulous blink.

If he thought about it, he could see the reasoning behind it. His first body had been 'buried' here hadn't it? And it was his 'birthplace' after that, very reasonable to sink his body back into the lake for a second eternal rest.

But...

Seriously?

They had left his body in a frozen _pond?_ Barely bigger than a _puddle_? 

Scratching lightly at his cheek, Jack considered the sleek ice.

And snorted.

If it made them feel better to have left him here, then he'd not argue the case. Not like he actually cared anyways. He just couldn't believe the disrespect they'd shown.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

_I don't feel right. I don't... feel at all._

_The mind is a muscle, too. You must exercise it too and remember how it moves._


	4. Chapter 4

Jack leaned on his staff. Not the long crooked stick he used to carry around, this one was thicker.

Heavier.

More capable.

Idly, he contemplated how hard it would be to bonk the stick against the birdwoman's head to make her stop _screaming_ at him. The higher her voice got the more Jack's head hurt.

Jack hadn't even done anything, he'd merely been enjoying the nice sunset and trying to catch sight of the little tooth fairies and suddenly this bird woman came out of no-where and started shrieking hysterically at him.  
Rude.

Technically, Jack could understand. He used to be friends with this creature and she had helped bury him. Mourned him. To find him out wandering must be quite the shock...

Jack made a half-hearted attempt to feel some sort of compassion. Goodwill. Regret? But nothing was there, just a vague annoyance at having his quiet night ruined. With a roll of his eyes he pushed off his staff and walked away, snow crunching softly under his boots.

NOW he saw the tiny tooth fairies, as they flitted about in front of his face, though what they thought they could do to stop him he didn't know.

He lightly tapped them with frost, just enough to make them move out of his way, and carried on.

Jack's shoulders relaxed once he was out of range of the screaming (had she even noticed he'd left? Silly creature.) and he ambled towards..

Home?

Close enough. He ambled towards home where it would be cold and dark and he could be alone.

Well.

As alone as Pitch would allow him be. He'd been hinting there was someone he wanted Jack to meet.

Jack grimaced.

Just as long as they didn't shriek.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

_I will never be the same again, will I?_

_No. You will have to relearn what it is to be Jack Frost. It should prove to be interesting._


	5. Chapter 5

His skin tingled under the wandering finger. It traced from the corner of his mouth and followed the black ridges up towards his cheekbone. The small shifting of the thread was what woke Jack, the tingling of flesh that was mostly held together.

He reached up and grabbed the hand, gently removing it. First he pressed it to his lips for a kiss then tucked it under his chin.

However, the Russulka was too fascinated by the black thread that decorated Jack head to toe, and would not be put off for long.

Jack blamed Pitch. For the thread AND the Russulka, though for a blind date... it hadn't gone too bad.

Natka tried to look innocent as Jack finally cracked his eyes open to look at her, but it was awfully hard to look innocent when you had your tongue pressed against someone's shoulder.

"You did say you needed help connecting with your senses."

Jack could feel the corner of his mouth, the side that still tingled, twitch and curl up in a smile.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------

 

_How did you know?_

_Your subconscious cried out in fear, even if you were not truly aware of your surroundings. I found you and released you because no one deserves to spend eternity trapped and alone in the dark._


	6. Chapter 6

Jack had never seen the home of Mother Nature, but he assumed it would be full of plants and trees and.. stuff. Flowers. Bees. Lots of living things. Everything that would be the exact opposite of the hall he was in.

The dirt floor was strange for such a large place, tramped down smooth and hard but still obviously dirt. The walls were grey and rough and reminded Jack of weathered gravestones. The high ceiling was stone too, but had decorative arches made of smooth bone. Probably bone. Looked like bone. Many, many bones linked together in an artful mosaic.

Natka pulled on his hand, long white skirts going shhhhhhh against the floor. "He's waiting. Come on."

Ah yes. They had an appointment.

Or Jack had an appointment. Natka was just along for the ride looking both nervous and thrilled.

She wasn't worried, for all that it was DEATH they were meeting. She just wanted Jack to make a good impression. If he made a good impression...

Well.

How exciting! Think of all the opportunities he'd have! Maybe they could even work together!

Jack managed a small smile at the Russulka's glee, even if he didn't really understand it. It wouldn't hurt him to play along so....

Why not?

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

_What do I do now?_

_You'll find a purpose eventually. Until then, whatever you want I suppose._


	7. Chapter 7

Jack scratched at his wrist, pausing as fingers found a loose thread. Looking away from the bickering strangers, he pulled on the thread curiously.

Unexpectedly, the thread stretched and stretched and stretched some more till he had a strand easily two feet long. It shimmered oddly too, silver rippling up and down the black thread.

".....huh."

Jack had been faintly amused to learn that the threads had come from the tail of a Pooka, a magical irish horse. Scottish? Eh, a magical shape-shifting horse. He didn't think that hair from even a magical horse should still be able to grow once removed, but what did he know?

A breeze lightly ruffled Jack's hair and his hands moved instinctively, looping the thread quickly into a strange knot. The bundled shuddered under his fingers and somehow Jack knew that he'd trapped that small bit of wind in the thread.

The why and how of it escaped him, but... Jack knew he could save the knot and breeze for later if he needed it.

Jack pondered this new talent as he looked up at his tablemates, handmaidens and henchmen of Death. Natka to his left and a skinny fellow to his right who's antlers kept sweeping over Jack's head by inches.

It was actually pretty cool, he hadn't even known of most of these people before.

Jack was learning so many new things today.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

_I still don't know what a Spriggan is._

_Nasty creatures. Horrible tempers. For the most part they are quite small and ugly... When enraged however, they can become much, much larger. Stronger. It literally tore you limb from limb._


	8. Chapter 8

Jack admired the feather, tilting it back and forth under the light to watch the colors shimmer. 

If it wasn't for the fact Natka only wore snowy white and icy white, he would have considered making it into a hair ornament for her.

Jack had long stopped trying to point out ice and snow were the same shade of white, he'd found that as a male his input on fashion was not needed. 

Or wanted. 

Or taken into consideration.

Hence his current outfit of ice, snow, and moonglow white.

The feather, however, was mostly blue with green shimmers. If Jack tilted is just so there was a faint line of gold that squiggled across the barbs.

He COULD have taken a whole handful. Queen Toothiana, Guardian of Childhood Memories, had been shedding them like mad at the meeting. Stress perhaps?

The Guardians of Hope, Wonder, and Dreams had looked just as uncomfortable, but hadn't left any souvenirs.

"I for one am ready to go. There is only so much needless shouting I can take."

Jack gave a one-shouldered shrug and offered Pitch the feather. 

"Mmmph. Leave it." 

The Guardians had spent most of the meeting desperately avoiding meeting Jack's eyes. They couldn't possibly be afraid of him. Guilt? It wasn't like they had murdered him. He hadn't missed Mother Nature's wince either when first arriving. Or rather, the wince at seeing his new markings. 

See, this is why he liked the people on Death's side of things. They took everything in stride and many of them, quite frankly, looked even worse than Jack.

"We won't have to worry about them kidnapping you now, or attempting to. Even the Guardians won't go against Death when they know he has an eye on the situation."

Pitch sounded smug, making Jack curious enough to look up. 

Yup. Smug. 

He'd never understand these people.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

_How am I even here?_

_Because Man in the Moon played with forces beyond his understanding OR right. Necromancy is not a thing you can just dabble in and Death will be sure to drive that point home to him._


	9. Chapter 9

Jack was no doctor, but from what he'd seen over the years was that the point of medical stitches was to use as few as possible while still being able to hold the wound closed.

Pitch 'Overkill' Black had thought otherwise.

His noses inches from the mirror, Jack peered at the stitches that wandered off from the corner of his mouth and across his cheek. He mused that he should stop calling them 'stitches' and start thinking of them as 'facial embroidery' because they were tiny and perfect and so closely grouped together it seemed one continuous line.

Pitch had a very steady hand, Jack had to admire that. The wandering thread gave the vague impression of vines as it followed the tears, going a little this way and a little that way and branching off. The occasional decorative curl helped.

Jack poked his tongue at the inside of his cheek, finding more rough ridges.

According to Pitch, the creature had merely wanted to remove Jack's tongue, and had almost removed Jack's jaw in the process. That was why the marks on either side of Jack's mouth were uneven, the skin had stretched and then torn under the pressure.

....it was kind of pretty.

In a twisted way.

The areas around the thread tingled whenever Jack prodded at it, a bit like the pins and needles he'd get when his foot fell asleep. From the magic in the thread probably, it wasn't a bad feeling either, just... tingly.

He’d keep them.

Not like he had much if a choice, but it was an easier not-choice if he liked the marks.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------

 

_You have far too much time on your hands. You should really think about taking up Death's offer too._

_I'll remember that next time you are injured. And I'm thinking about it._

_Just saying, if you had something to DO you'd stop using me as your walking art project. I am not a tapestry._

_Yet._


	10. Chapter 10

After some thought, Jack hunted down a dictionary. When that did not actually help matters he hunted down Pitch.

"It's a symbol of evolution, rebirth, and growth."

Pitch handed the cloak brooch back with a shrug. "It is likely a comment on how you've come to be and how you've changed along the way."

Alright, when put that way it made sense. Jack looked over the flattened disk, silver deeply etched with a rough spiral that had then been filled in with red enamel. He'd thought that Death would choose a single symbol of office for all his employees, those without a myth to work under, but apparently not.

He knew Natka had a ring of carved bone, for being the representative of her species. Jack had been surprised to learn too that Russulka were not usually inclined to take a male lover. No, men were for drowning not fu-

"When does the Father of Death expect you to take up your new duties?"

Jack shrugged. Whenever Death called for him, when else?

That reminded him... He turned to Pitch with raised eyebrows, wanting to know if Pitch was _still_ thinking about it.

"Don't hound me. I'm AM considering the proposition. I just need to carefully weigh my options."

....there were other options? Jack left a single eyebrow raised up. What other options would the BOOGEYMAN have in a change of career?

"....shut up."

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------

 

_What's it mean?_

_It's a symbol of reconciliation. And peacemaking._

_Do you feel peaceful?_

_Soon. Hopefully. This should make things easier._


	11. Chapter 11

Having your emotions dulled, Jack decided, was a blessing in its own way.

Sure, it made it a little harder to smile, and he was a little slower to laugh. Natka was enjoying the challenge of waking up Jack's emotional side.

It also meant he was harder to scare, he rarely got angry, and he got startled a lot less.

And people seemed to get creeped out by how he could casually reach up and pull an arrow out of his shoulder without even blinking.

His ability to feel pain may also have been dulled a bit.

All in all, when a sour-faced little man who barely reached the height of Jack's knee suddenly sprouted another seven feet and roared right in Jack's face.... Jack didn't even twitch.

Facially, that is. His hands moved quickly, weaving a loose thread around his fingers and tugging hard.

The creature's limbs snapped against his body under invisible rope and Jack took a small step to the side as the Fae teetered, tottered, and finally faceplanted into the grass.

Digging his foot under a muscled shoulder, Jack heaved until he got the creature rolled over and could look him in the face.

"But.. you're dead!'

Jack rolled his shoulders into a careless shrug, taking a long look at the creature who he didn't remember but had caused an awful amount of chaos in Jack's life.

Pitch was right.

Spriggan's were hideous.

Even more so when going grey-faced with realization, eyes falling on Jack's cloak.

"He.. No! Death can't demand the life of a spirit without-!"

The Spriggan's voiced trailed off in horror as Jack raised a single pale eyebrow, thoroughly unimpressed. But that meant.. that meant... Mother Nature HAD given her approval of the culling. He was going to die.

No!

The invisible bonds constricted tight and then tighter around the Spriggan as Jack pulled on the thread as hard as possible without breaking. The sound of bones breaking shouldn't be compared to popcorn but... Popcorn.

The mess wasn't even that bad as the bits of bone and flesh shrunk down to the original mass, hardly more than a rabbit. Jack kicked some dirt over it and left the body to rot.

The whole thing had barely dented the day, plenty of time for Jack to get ready for his date.

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

_So who will keep the Nightmares under wraps now?_

_Sanderson. They ARE a type of dream after all. He won't be able to eradicate them, but he can keep them in check if he wants to._


	12. Chapter 12

Jack stretched out on the snow, hands tucked under his head.

He hadn't felt like dealing with the fuss that would come from being seen by the moon, so he was chilling out under some trees.

Heh.

Chilling.

He closed his eyes and let his mind drift. There was so much to think about, where to even start...

His dis-attachment to the weather around him? He could feel the snow under him, and the cold air, and the general sense that it was a perfect winter. He just felt no inclination to do anything with it. About it. For it.

That Pitch had dragged him kicking and screaming, sometimes literally, back to life? That was a really good one for which Jack had no answers for. Was the fact that he'd died to become Jack Frost what made it easier for him to be resurrected a second time? HAD he been resurrected, either time? Jack Frost the Winter Zombie... 

He'd have read that book, sounded cool.

He could think about his new job offer. Being a zombie had its perks on that front, can't kill someone already dead right? It had been a vastly different experience than when he'd been 'offered' the role of Guardian, from what he remembered of it.

Death had _asked._ He'd offered tempting rewards, hinted at a high rank. Jack felt like he'd been courted rather than bullied.

Could be... fun. 

A smile flitted over Jack's face for a second. 

Or maybe he'd just go find some pretty flowers and go see what Natka was doing. Jack was enjoying getting to know her better, and she seemed to feel the same. 

Pitch should start up a match-making service. 

...Jack should find Pitch a girlfriend. 

Now that could be entertaining. 

_\--------------------------------------------------------_

_What's that?_

_A book on sign language. You might as well learn other ways of communicating if you will not speak. It will make things easier later on._

_What's wrong with this?_

_Not everyone knows Morse code._


	13. Chapter 13

"Can you forgive us, Frostbite?"

Jack turned to face the Easter Bunny with raised eyebrows. He'd known the rabbit was there, pacing alongside him through the forest, he'd just been content to wait and see what the rabbit would say.

But forgiveness?

It had been an accident, nothing to forgive.

"We failed you. We all failed you so badly, and you've been paying the price ever since haven't you?"

Jack shook his head. He was so far removed from what he had been that he couldn't say he was suffering. He felt fine. ...most of the time. He had friends, and a job, and a teacher, and a lover.

How was that a punishment?

"I knew what those creatures are capable of. You should never have been sent by yourself. I'm not sure you should forgive us, because I know I can't."

Jack hesitated, before reaching out and putting his hand on the rabbit's arm as they both came to a stop. He tried a comforting pat, because really. He was okay, nothing to worry about.

It might have been the wrong thing to do.

Bunnymund made a choking sound, rubbing at his face with a large paw. He turned away from Jack with hunched shoulders.

"Tooth is inconsolable. North can't bring himself to leave his office. Sandy is... I don't know. He doesn't come around. We were so stupid and it ruined us better than anything Pitch Black ever did."

Jack chewed on a loose thread on the inside of his cheek. He felt.. what was this? Should he try another pat? Before he could try though, the rabbit turned back around with wet eyes.

"We were supposed to have your back."

The Easter Bunny shouldn't sound so broken. It made Jack's chest hurt. Moving cautiously, so that the rabbit could pull back if he wanted, Jack hugged him.

Hugs were good, right? Hugs were comforting.

It worked better than the patting it seemed, Bunnymund's arms coming up to wrap around Jack tightly.

Now _Jack_ wanted to cry.

 

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

 

_What have you been doing? You're covered in fur._

_Bunnymund needed a hug._

_....now what are you doing?_

_I need a hug._


End file.
